Midnight Mists
by Marvel
Summary: Short, single, stand-alone. Will has an encounter with the spirit of the Black Pearl.


Midnight Mists  
  
Disclaimer: Will and Jack aren't mine. The ghost is.  
  
Author's Note: This has nothing to do with my other series. It is totally stand-alone.  
  
Will stood perfectly still in the door frame that led from the below deck area of the Black  
  
Pearl up onto the broad wooden expanse of night air, trying to convince himself he was  
  
dreaming.   
  
It was a bright night. Moon and starlight mingled on the dark deck, sparkling dully on the  
  
black wood and lighting the semi-sheer woman dancing before him with an ethereal light.   
  
She had to be a ghost. He could see straight through her, making out the ship behind her  
  
almost as easily as that beside her.   
  
She was like a collection of fog pulled together to create the wispy form, some parts  
  
thicker and less opaque than others.   
  
She had been dark-skinned in life, he imagined. Where bare skin should have been was  
  
less solid than the clothing. She had been a gypsy, he guessed. Aztec, perhaps.   
  
Her long dark hair was pulled back and secured with a long scarf that flew around her as  
  
she continued her twirling steps. Large earrings gave the impression of weight as they hung from  
  
her ears, flying considerably less than her clothing. Bracelets soundlessly knocked together on  
  
her wrists and ankles as she spun.   
  
Her blouse was a deeper white, very much the sort he had seen Annamaria wear. It was  
  
unbuttoned low, exposing more of the semi-sheer bust. A shawl of some sort which could have  
  
been drawn over her shoulders pooled at her elbows. It was long, fluttering behind her, fading  
  
into dark nothingness as she spun. Her skirt was little more than a piece of cloth secured around  
  
her waist with another scarf. This one hung close to her body, the strings on the end threaded  
  
with beads that occasionally bounced against her dark legs. The skirt had a large slit that allowed  
  
her to move, and occasionally showed a flash of barely-there leg that would have been  
  
completely inappropriate had she been flesh-and-blood.   
  
Her eyes were the brightest part of her face, the white standing out against the dark,  
  
completely clear pools in the middle. Her lips were perpetually smiling-not a twisted maniacal  
  
smile one would expect from a ghost but a smile of pure joy. White teeth occasionally showed  
  
beneath those lips.   
  
"Pretty, isn't she?"   
  
Will jumped at the sound of the voice. He spun to find Jack standing behind him. He had  
  
expected a cocky smile and a jab about having startled him, but instead Jack was staring at the  
  
ghost as if entranced. "You can see her?"   
  
"Aye. For fifteen years I've been seein' her. I'm a little surprised you can. She usually  
  
doesn't show herself to people 'til they've been on her ship a few years. Must like you. Not that  
  
I'm surprised. She liked your father."   
  
"Is she out here every night?"   
  
"Nah. Only once in a while."   
  
"Who is she?"   
  
"She's the Pearl. Our protector. Our patron saint, if you will." Will gave him a confused  
  
look. "Come, let's discuss it above. It's a long story and I don't intend to stand here forever."   
  
"She won't disappear?"   
  
"Not so long as we don't interrupt her dancing."   
  
Jack led him up close to the rigging lines and over to sit on the rail. They both watched  
  
her twirl. "Does she ever say anything? Do anything?"   
  
"Sometimes. Depends how social she's feelin', although she's never done much more than  
  
acknowledge me. Evenin', luv," he called across the deck to her.   
  
She paused in her dancing to give him a low bow that could have been another part of the  
  
dance if not for the broad smile and her eyes fastened on them. A giggle of pure joy wafted over  
  
to them and she continued her dance.   
  
"There you go," Jack said.   
  
"What's she doing here?" Will asked.   
  
"Dancing, obviously," Jack said.   
  
"You know what I mean. You said it was a long story. Tell me."   
  
"All right, but I'm not promising you'll believe it. Her father was an Aztec Witch Doctor  
  
o' one sort or another. Her brother was the original captain o' this ship. He named the ship for  
  
her--her name means 'Midnight Pearl' in Aztec, or so I've been told. She'd sail with her brother on  
  
occasion. Usually he stowed her below during battles, but if things got bad she'd fight with the  
  
crew. Not a bad hand with the sword, if her brother's log entries are to be believed." She danced  
  
close to them on that turn. Will leaned automatically back although Jack remained in the same  
  
spot, grinning up at her. She twirled off.   
  
"Anyway, one day the fight got hairy and she got herself run through. Horrible death, you  
  
know. Slow and painful. He got her back to her father. She begged him not to let her die. Not  
  
completely anyway, and the Witch Doctor promised to do what he could to see to it she kept on.  
  
So when she finally moved on he bound her to the ship. I don't rightly understand it all. I know  
  
there's a piece of her scull in the mast. I believe I've found pieces o' her below deck a time or two.  
  
I'm fairly certain there's a rib under the floor in my cabin and Annamaria swears up and down  
  
there are arm bones in the other masts."   
  
"That's morbid."   
  
Jack shrugged. "It's what she wanted. She didn't have need of them. And she doesn't look  
  
too upset, does she?"   
  
Will looked back at the dancing woman. Her eyes were closed as she spun now, a look of  
  
absolute contentment on her translucent face. "No."   
  
"Thought not. I swear she's been helpin' us out since then. There've been times I thought  
  
the battle was over and they suddenly started making mistakes. Times when she should've been  
  
on the bottom of the ocean and she's lasted to Port. She moves fast, you've seen, faster'n she  
  
should, sometimes." He grinned then. "And I believe she's fond o' me. Barbossa mentioned, when  
  
I visited the brig, that no one had seen her since my leaving. Twigg said something about the ship  
  
fighting them." He caressed the rail they sat on.   
  
As if feeling it the ghost turned to them, her eyes opening to look toward them. The sun  
  
was rising, the first pink rays painting the coiled fog a light rose, as if she blushed from head to  
  
toe.   
  
Grinning she walked over to them with an unnatural grace. With a force of will, Will did  
  
not get up and run from her. The breeze blowing toward him, through her, seemed chill. She  
  
leaned forward suddenly, laying her lips gently against his cheek.   
  
It was indeed cool and damp, as if a cloud were caressing him, the lightest feel of feathers  
  
tickling his cheek. And then the feel was gone. She smiled down at him as he reached up to feel  
  
his cheek. Warm and dry, but he thought he could still feel the impression on his skin.   
  
"Hey, where's mine?" Jack asked. "After all I did, chasing you one end of the ocean to the  
  
other, you'd best not start playing favorites with the whelp."   
  
Her light laughter rang through the air again. She stepped over to lay a kiss on his  
  
forehead. Will knew from experience that, had she been a live woman Jack would have  
  
attempted to catch her lips. Apparently even the daring Captain Jack Sparrow knew better than to  
  
harass a ghost.   
  
"Care for him." Will blinked at the sound of her voice, deep and whispering with just a  
  
slight tinge of something musical beneath it. Harps, perhaps, or violins. "'Tis what Bill would ask  
  
of you."   
  
Will's heart sped up. Was she suggesting that she was on familiar terms with his father?   
  
"So long as you continue to care for us, luv," Jack answered.   
  
She nodded. Her eyes moved to Will one final time. Another nod, or perhaps a respectful  
  
inclining of her head, and she stepped back. She spread her arms wide, closed her eyes, and  
  
raised her head toward the dawn. Just as the sun hoisted itself above the curved edge of the sea  
  
the holds keeping her together melted. The fog that had been her twisted in the breeze. Some of it  
  
blew against them in a soft puff of chill dankness that smelled faintly of clean water and fresh  
  
breezes. The rest dissipated into the air.   
  
"She can't stay in the sunlight?" Will asked   
  
Jack shrugged. "I've never seen her do it. I choose to believe she can do whatever she  
  
likes. Come, there's work to do. On deck, ye cads!" Jack added in a yell to the day crew who  
  
were emerging from below.   
  
Will sat, staring at the spot she had just vacated for a moment before turning to help.  
  
Perhaps it was only his imagination, but he could have sworn a cool puff of air whispered into his  
  
ear, "Be well, William Turner."   
  
Author's Note: What do you think? This has been plaguing me. I had to write it. Tell me what  
  
you think, even that it's stupid. 


End file.
